


A Rough Start

by helygen2017



Series: Anyone But You [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Modern Girl in Thedas, Physical Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helygen2017/pseuds/helygen2017
Summary: I decided to post the bit of back story I had to "Anyone but You". I realise that many may see my depiction of Cullen as OOC but I could totally see him not being verynicewith the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal, the horror of demons pouring out of the rifts around him, the carnage at the temple, etc. and then, a woman that has absolutely no skills to survive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post the bit of back story I had to "Anyone but You". I realise that many may see my depiction of Cullen as OOC but I could totally see him not being very _nice_ with the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal, the horror of demons pouring out of the rifts around him, the carnage at the temple, etc. and then, a woman that has absolutely no skills to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: graphic description of suicide attempt. If this triggers you - do NOT read!

There are three possibilities for my current situation that I can think of. One, I’m dreaming; some bizarre amalgamation of all the fantasy and sci-fi stories, TV shows, and movies I’ve ingested over the years, and have dumped my sorry ass / mind into this mess that I can’t seem to wake myself from. Two, I have finally had that psychotic break brought on by the depression, grief, and anxiety that I’ve been coping – well, trying to cope – with for the last six months since my fiancé’s death. Although, unlike that Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, there doesn’t seem to be any demon or other monster trying to coax me into embracing the new reality, or any other one for that matter. Three, I’m already dead and apparently, I’ve royally pissed someone in the Universe off and this is my punishment; either in some horrible hell dimension or I’ve been reincarnated into some hellish alternate universe. Either way, that sucks.

Oh, I guess there is a fourth option. Somewhere, somehow, some freaky hole has torn itself though the space-time continuum and sucked me from my maybe-not-so-great-life-but-one-that-was-generally-safe into this new clusterfuck which consists of an all-out war against and between the people of this world fueled with swords and heavy doses of magic. F u c k i n g magic. I wouldn’t have believed it except that there is this glowing green _thing_ that has attached itself to – or in – my hand and with it I can close these interdimensional portals and send the demons back from whence they came. Yeah, you heard me right. Demons. See scenario number three. And maybe scenario two; the demons could be taking a different psychological approach. That’s an option, I guess.

I’ve been stuck in this nightmare for about two weeks from what I can gather. How that time relates to real life, I have no idea, but here, in this place it’s been two weeks. At least, that’s what they tell me. I haven’t seen anything resembling a calendar. They said that I appeared out of a rift in the remains of their temple; that I was flung out and collapsed after a momentary struggle to maintain consciousness. Think Poltergeist with less slime and no bathtub. For three days after I arrived I was apparently kept prisoner, unconscious and chained to a dungeon floor _thank you very much_ , while the elf mage, Solas, tried to keep the magic in my hand from killing me. I wish he hadn’t bothered.

After regaining consciousness, I was interrogated by two intensely, scary as fuck, women. I’ll admit, I’m not sure which of them were more frightening to me; the one wearing a sword and threatened to backhand me with a metal enclosed hand, or the one whose face remained hidden in the shadows of her hood while she asked questions in a soft, quiet voice. Bad cop, scarier cop? I don’t think they understand how that game works. They kept asking questions about some conclave and explosion, and asked what the mark on my hand was. As if I knew.

After the friendly – feel free to read that with the intended air quotes – interrogation, Cassandra, the scary one with the sword, unchained me but then bound my hands with rope and dragged me out of the building to go see this Breach. I was freezing to death in thin, unfamiliar, and ill-fitted clothes; I’m not sure what happened to my original clothes after my trip to wherever here is and that is very disquieting, who had undressed me and why, and what did they do to me when I was out of it? In any case, she dragged me along past all these really pissed off people that looked like they’d be happy to pull me to shreds if she hadn’t been with me, and then we headed to the temple. I’m pretty sure at several points during that trip that I thought my hand was going to kill me. The Breach turned out to be this swirling malignant green hole in the sky. It was nauseating to look at as the debris from the temple floated in the air, slowly twisting and spiralling. It kind of looked like a tornado someone dumped a bunch of electric green kool-aid into. The Breach would pulse occasionally and when it did, it would squeal like steel scraping across concrete in some horrific slo-mo car crash and the mark in my hand would throb and snap in response. I couldn’t help screaming myself when it happened; you try not screaming when someone rams a live electrical wire through your forearm from hand to elbow.

From that point on, it just got more surreal if that were even possible. We met up with the elf mage – I finally got my introduction to Solas – and a dwarf named Varric, who is apparently a famous author. Whatever, but he does have a seriously kickass crossbow. Elves, and dwarfs, and oh yeah, let’s not forget about the demons, oh my. They were fighting demons, Cassandra helped, I hid and then I apparently closed the rift with whatever the green shit on my hand was. Details get a bit more fussy after that. I remember stumbling through a smoldering crater of a building that reminded me of pictures of the aftermath of Vesuvius except here the corpses are still smoldering and the area stinks of a ruined barbecue; the acrid smell of charcoal, scorched wood, and burnt pork. Yeah, I heaved what little I didn’t have in my stomach. And they think I am responsible for that carnage. I closed another rift in that disaster zone. It was ground zero and there was a massive rift there; of course, it wasn’t a simple hold your hand up and poof! rift goes boom type of operation. Oh no, I had to open it first, then close it. And obviously when you have to fiddle with things, inevitably bad shit happens, in this case the biggest demon I have ever seen popped out. Not that I’ve seen a lot of demons in my single day of consciousness, but it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen; huge, grey-purple, spiky hide with claws and way more eyes than should be normal that had chains or whips of lightning – I think it’s laughter was the most horrifying. I guess I closed the rift after they brought the demon down. Two people died fighting the demon while I hid behind broken pieces of walls and stuck my hand out occasionally. I feel shitty about that, but I don’t know what else I could have done. I was out of it for another three days after that.

Waking up was like entering some new episode of the Twilight Zone. When I fell asleep people wanted to rip me apart for some crime I didn’t commit, and some religious guy wanted to haul me off to another city for a trial and execution. Now, I have people bowing and scraping, and reaching out to touch me like I’m some holy relic. If I’m not careful, they’ll probably start pulling out my hair or cutting off my fingers for souvenirs. Because of closing that rift and my miraculous arrival, they are now proclaiming me as the Herald of Andraste. Andraste is their goddess – no wait, the Maker is their god, Andraste was his mortal bride, but there’s something else about Maferath, Hessarian, and Shartan. It’s all very confusing, although there is a very disquieting similarity between Andraste and Joan of Arc, and I’m hoping that I don’t end up following their history to the end. The people in charge have been _helping_ me to adjust to being here; Josephine, the Ambassador, is trying to give me a crash course in their history and politics. Leliana, the scary woman in the hood is the spy mistress, she’s helping Josephine teach me about the politics as well as religious indoctrination because I’m going to have to go and be the face of the Inquisition and _talk_ to people.

Cassandra and Cullen, the Inquisition’s Commander, are teaching me how to fight because while I’m out _talking_ to people, other people will be trying to kill me. I’ve told them that I have no combat experience whatsoever; never even took anything like self defense or any martial arts. I’ve never so much as thrown a punch in my life. So yeah, they’re trying to teach me how to fight, but I think it’s just an excuse to work out their frustrations on me. I had hoped when I met the Commander that I might have someone in my corner. You know, a defender of the weak – he is quite literally a knight in shining armour. A tall, gorgeous, blond knight in shining armour with enough scruff and a sexy scar to make him more rugged than angelic... Talk about having every girlhood fantasy smashed to shit with a side helping of blunt force trauma. What an asshole – with a capital A. As soon as I was up and on my feet, the two warriors took it upon themselves to teach me how to use a sword to defend myself. I was surprised initially that the swords weren’t actually that heavy. You always incorrectly assume that a sword made of iron or steel would be very heavy, but it really isn’t. Of course, after struggling to hold it in the correct position for hours and have someone who stands a foot taller, outweighs you, and has years of practice repeatedly smack it out of your hand; it might as well weigh a lot. I’ve never had strong wrists to start with and struggle with a tennis racket so to then have someone repeated hit it _and_ on top of that it’s freezing cold, I didn’t do well much to the Commander’s evident frustration. I understand that the world as he knows has come smashing down in a horrifying disaster, but taking it out on me when by Cassandra’s own words I’m not the guilty party, smacks of some personal issues he has that he’s purging on me.

I guess they decided that it wasn’t good for the morale of the troops, nor for my image as their sacred Herald, to be seen training as incompetently as I was. Training was now conducted out of sight in a clearing away from the rest of the village which just gives him the opportunity to vent his rage on me without witnesses. If I thought the first two days of sword training weren’t bad enough, they were nothing compared to the third. I made a huge mistake; half way through our training session, the Commander smashed his sword against my frozen hand. It hurt so much that I cried out and dropped the sword to cradle my throbbing hand. That pissed him off. He immediately went on the offensive smacking my arms, shoulders, and legs with the flat of the sword and telling me how I could be defending myself if I hadn’t been so useless and dropped the sword. I was so angry and upset that I turned my back on him. Yeah, huge mistake. I don’t even remember precisely where he hit me, but I suddenly found myself flat on my back, gasping for the air that had been knocked out of my body, while he stood spitting and snarling in anger over top of me. It didn’t get any better after that.

They keep telling me if I don’t learn how to fight and defend myself, that I’m going to get myself or someone else killed. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s death and as for my own… I’d rather die on my own terms; besides, back to those scenarios. If I die here, I just wake up or change the dream, right? Right?

* * *

Varric invited me for dinner at the tavern. I told him I was going to have a hot bath and then would join him later; he seemed rather skeptical but after I dragged my fingers through my sweaty matted hair, he bought it. The tub had been filled with hot water by some of the serving elves. Yeah, there are servants; predominantly elves, and they’re so skinny and skittish that I’m positive that they aren’t treated well. This doesn’t really come as a surprise to me after my week. I locked the door to the cabin so I wouldn’t be disturbed, then stripped down and put on the over-sized tunic I had been given for sleeping in. I downed the potion in a quick swallow trying to ignore the urge to gag at the horrid taste. Adan said that the potion was good for pain relief, but it wouldn’t heal the bruises, welts, and scrapes I had received in my particularly brutal training session earlier that day – my third away from prying eyes. The Commander had been in a foul mood; if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he hadn’t slept and kept squinting and scowling like he had a massive headache. Not that it’s an excuse for his behaviour. I didn’t dare cry in front of him anymore; he had already made it abundantly clear how frustrated he was with my pathetic lack of ability.

I could feel a pleasant numbness creep over me from the potion, I stepped into the bath and sat down leaning against the back of the tub. The hot water felt so nice on my aching muscles and joints. I grabbed the dagger in my left hand from the table beside the bath and before my hands started trembling too much from the potion and I lost my nerve, I dragged the point of the dagger deep into the flesh of my arm from wrist to half way to my elbow. I cried out at that pain. Even with the potion it hurt like hell. The blood poured out of my arm into the water. I quickly switched hands; my right hand trembled as I held the point of the dagger against the inside of my left wrist. I gulped in some air and bit my lip against the pain as I pushed the dagger in again and dragged it down my arm. The tears poured down my face; holy mother… that hurt! I felt rather nauseous and lightheaded with the pain and blood loss, I guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise. I reached over the side of the tub and the last thing I’m aware of as everything faded away was the sound of the dagger hitting the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Graphic description of suicide. If this triggers you, do NOT read.

“Hey Seeker? You seen the Herald lately?” Varric asked as Cassandra headed past his tent towards the training grounds.

“She left the Chantry a little while ago. Said she was going to take a bath and then retire for the night.”

“Huh? She told me that she’d meet me for dinner in the tavern.”

“Perhaps she forgot. She was looking rather tired,” she replied.

“Yeah…” Varric shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the little cabin. “Would you check on her?”

Cassandra made an annoyed sound, “is that really necessary? The Herald has had a difficult few days. She’s probably just gone to bed early.”

“You’re probably right, but,” he continued to fidget which was so unlike him. “Just make sure she didn’t fall asleep in the bath, all right Seeker?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, “fine.” The two of them walked over to the cabin and Cassandra knocked on the door, “Herald?” She knocked again, harder, “Herald?” There was no sound at all from inside the cabin. Her hand moved to the door knob and found it locked. “Perhaps she’s already bathed and went for a walk before dinner,” she offered frowning at the locked door.

“Seeker… No one has seen her since your meeting. Here, let me unlock it. We can always apologize if we wake her.” Varric crouched down before the lock and picked it in no time. He stepped back and let Cassandra proceed him in case she was in a state of undress.

Cassandra opened the door a crack and peeped in. The bed was empty. She opened the door slightly further and saw the top of the woman’s head where it lay against the edge of the tub. “Herald? Are you awake?” There was no response. She opened the door further and saw her arm hanging over the edge of the tub; on the floor below her open hand lay a dagger, the flickering light of the fire illuminating the line of red that ran down the woman’s arm and hand to drip on the wood. Cassandra gasped, “Varric! Get Solas immediately. Be quick!” She dashed into the room without sparing a backward glance to the dwarf that had already turned to get the mage.

She yanked a blanket off the bed and spread it out on the floor before reaching into the bath to lift the unconscious woman out. The water was red; Cassandra could only just make out the tops of her knees as they poked out above the water line in order know where to hook her arms under them, her other arm going around the woman’s back. She laid her carefully on the floor and grabbed each wrist tightly in her hands holding them up in the air until help arrived. She watched the slow rise and fall of her chest feeling immense relief that she was still breathing. She felt angry at the Herald for her selfish act that would have doomed them all, but in the same moment, a great sense of shame and guilt washed over her. On retrospect, she realised that she didn’t see how fragile and in pain the Herald was in, but the evidence was before her. Torn from her world and thrust into a violent situation that she had no control over or understanding of, and they had all pushed and prodded her to become something she was not without any care or consideration as to how the woman was dealing with all of it. She saw the woman becoming more withdrawn and quiet over the course of the last week; the dark shadows under her eyes and pale skin told the tale that the Herald wasn’t sleeping or eating well, but no one stopped long enough to care. Well, except for Varric, apparently.

Cassandra looked up at the sound of the door opening again. “Solas.”

“Fenhedis, what has happened?” Solas asked as he hurried over drawing on his mana immediately.

“She tried to kill herself,” she replied relinquishing a wrist as Solas took over to heal it before looking after the second one. Varric kept his eyes averted from the unconscious woman as he bent down to pick up the dagger from the floor.

“She nearly accomplished it,” he commented as he ran his magic over her body to check for other injuries and push the healing spell into her. “Any longer and her heart would have given out. We need to get her out of the wet clothing.” The tunic she wore when she got into the tub was soaked with bloodied water and stuck to her body and thighs.

“That’s my signal to leave,” Varric said.

“Varric, can you go and let the others know? They should still be in the chantry. But keep it quiet; we don’t need everyone else knowing that the Herald tried to take her own life.”

He nodded and let himself out of the cabin, but not before overhearing Solas’ angry questions to Cassandra regarding the signs of injury on the Herald’s body. Varric left and headed to the Chantry. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine where still in the war room as Cassandra had said; he let himself in after giving the door a knock.

“Something we can do for you, Varric?” Leliana asked coolly.

“Yeah,” he replied angrily, tossing the bloody dagger onto the table in front of them leaving a line of red across the map laid out there. “You can do better. The Herald tried to take her own life.”

Josephine gasped covering her mouth with her hands.

“What?” Cullen asked.

“When?” Leliana asked at the same time.

“The Seeker and I just found her. She was unconscious in her bath; she had opened both wrists. A few more minutes and she’d be dead. Solas is with the Seeker now tending to her.” He glanced at all the advisors and sighed. “You’re all pushing her too hard. All of this is new to her. She’s scared, she’s lost, and she needs your support. You seem to forget that she’s never been a fighter, she doesn’t know how…”

“She needs to learn, and quickly,” Cullen snapped.

“She doesn’t need to be bullied and beaten to learn,” Varric snapped back losing his patience. Cullen had the grace to look ashamed. “If we have any hope of her surviving long enough to close the Breach… You need to do better.”

* * *

When I woke up, my head felt like it was going to explode from the relentless pounding that throbbed in my skull with each beat of my heart. I was immensely thirsty, but I hesitated to open my eyes. I didn’t want to see the rough wooden walls of the cabin, the furs on the bed; I just wanted to keep my eyes closed a bit longer until I could convince myself that I was truly back in my own bed at home. The crackle of the fire and the sound of a book’s page being turned quashed that hope. With a sigh, I rolled over and opened my eyes. Solas looked at me for a moment then without a word, put the book down and got up to bring a cup of water over.

“I will assist you,” he said as I made to sit up. For someone that looked spindly, he was deceptively strong easily helping me sit up with an arm wrapped around my back. He held out a cup of water for me and I grimaced at the bandages wrapped around each arm. “Why, da’len?” he asked mournfully.

I looked up at him in surprise at his gentle tone of voice. I had expected anger or disappointment, not the concern and sympathy that I heard in his tone. After thinking for a few moments on how to explain myself, I sighed and answered him, “I thought that if I could wake myself up from this dream, this nightmare, that I’d be able to escape this… this… _whatever_ this is.”

Solas’ eyes widened, “you think that this is a dream?”

I laughed mirthlessly, “how could it not be? Holes in the sky, magic, sword wielding knights, elves, dwarfs, demons… None of that is _real._ ”

“But to kill yourself…”

I sighed again, “maybe it’s just an urban legend but I’ve always heard that your mind won’t allow you to die in a dream. Whenever I’ve had a dream that should lead to my death, I’ve always woken up beforehand. I’ve always been able to change my dreams, but it wasn’t working; the pain that I’ve experienced here,” I shuddered and noticed Solas tightened his lips into a thin line at my words, “pain wasn’t enough to jolt me out of the nightmare, so I thought I needed something more drastic…” I trailed off.

“And now? What do you believe?”

I looked away from him as my eyes burned, “that whatever this is – a dream, a figment of my imagination, or some other world – I can’t _change_ it. I don’t know how to go home.” I scrubbed at the wet trails on my cheeks wetting the bandages on my arms, annoyed with my show of weakness. I hate crying; whether angry or genuinely upset, I tear up and it certainly hasn’t helped the situation with the Commander and I didn’t want the tears now either. He didn’t comment on my tears for which I was grateful as he changed the subject.

“The bruises… Those are from training? Didn’t you request some healing?”

“Adan doesn’t have much for healing potions and what few there were, I thought were better left to the soldiers that do real fighting.”

“And from me?”

“I, uh… I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.” I looked up in confusion as the frustrated sound he made. “Well, I’ve _heard_ what people say about mages and you keep to yourself far away from the soldiers and the Chantry; I didn’t want to draw their attention to you if I could help it…” I was puzzled by the strange look that passed his face in a flicker of an eye.

“Da’len, I thank you for your concern, but I’m not worried about them. Please, there is no need for you to suffer so.” He gestured to my arms, “would you permit me to change the bandages and check on the healing?”

He plucked the water cup out of my hand when I held my arms out to him. Carefully, with his long nimble fingers he unwound the bandage material from my left arm; I hissed a pained sound as a bit of the fabric tugged painfully at a raw edge of the wound. The wound was more jagged than I expected but it was the second cut and I had already been feeling lightheaded from the previous cut. The other cut was cleaner, but both were a raw livid colour but looked like they were healing well. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “there will be scars. You were too weak from blood loss for me to do more at the time without stressing your heart. Any magic I do now will speed up the healing but won’t change the appearance.” I gave a sharp nod that I understood; I couldn’t complain, I did this to myself and he did everything he could to save me.

I watched, fascinated, as his hands started to glow, and I could feel a soothing warmth sink into my flesh. The wounds itched intensely for a few moments, like the itch you get when a cut heals but compressed into the shorter time. He lifted his hands away and the wounds were deep pink instead of the livid red they were just minutes earlier. “Thank you, Solas,” I said when he finished.

He gave a slight tip to his head, “ma serannas. We should bandage them again to protect them from irritation and from the cold.” He got up, gathered some materials and a pot of ointment before returning to his seat and began wrapping my hands and arms again. “You should not do anything strenuous with your arms for a few more days to let injuries heal properly.” He finished wrapping my arms then held my wrists in both of his hands. I looked at him when he didn’t let go right away. “Please da’len, do not attempt something like this again.”

I swallowed thickly, “I won’t.”

He studied me and then satisfied with whatever he saw in my gaze as I held his own, he released my wrists. “If you need help, healing, or simply someone to talk to, please come and see me.” I nodded. He stood up then, “I need to inform the Seeker that you are awake. I will also inform them that you are not able to return to your combat training for the near future until your injuries are properly healed.”

* * *

“Come in,” I called out in response to a firm knock on the door. I was comfortable curled up on the bed with the book Varric gave to me and I wasn’t about to untangle myself from the warm blankets to answer the door.

“I wanted to see how you were doing?” _Shit, it had to be the Commander._

I dropped my eyes away from him immediately back to my book. “I’m fine.”

“Uh, good. I – we – were concerned…”

I snorted. “Forgive me, _Commander,_ if I doubt the sincerity of your concern. Please leave me alone.”

He stepped further into the room and I noticed that he hesitated at the dark stain on the wooden floor that wouldn’t come up, “I just wanted to apologize…”

I snapped my head up and then flung the book in my hand hitting him square in the chest with a muffled thud against his breastplate. He exhaled rather roughly in shock but stepped towards the bed. I twisted swiftly to the pile of books on the side table and hoisted it up in my hand, “leave, or the next one is going at your head.”

“Be reasonable,” he said taking another step towards the bed.

I noticed his hand clench on the pommel of his sword and I panicked, I whipped my arm back and threw the book. The only reason it didn’t hit him in the head was because he raised his arm in front of his face and blocked it. “Get out!” I screamed at him. Finally, he took my suggestion and left. I let out a shaky breath and felt the tears escape as a shivered from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’ve never had a reason to fear men before, but I feared the Commander.

* * *

When I was finally feeling a bit more myself, I ventured out of the cabin to seek some food and see if Varric or Solas were around for a bit of company. I found them both in the tavern having some breakfast. “Hey there, Herald,” Varric called out to me giving the chair beside him a shove from the table. “Good to see you up and about.”

“Thanks, Varric.” I sat down in the offered seat and throw a smile at Solas. One of the barmaids, not Flissa, but one of her helpers, brought over a bowl of the ubiquitous porridge they seem to like here along with a cup of hot tea and set it before me with a little curtsy and a shy smile.

“Say, if you’re feeling up to it, do you want to try shooting a bow? I heard that you have really good aim,” he said with a sly grin. “Maybe, it’s something you would like? You’re welcome to join us, Chuckles.”

“Can I shoot Bianca?” I asked excitedly.

“Well…” he hesitated. “Let’s see how you do with a regular bow first, hmm?”

After we finish breakfast, he tossed some coins on the table. “Come on,” he waved for me to follow him, “let’s see what Harritt has that might work for you.” Solas does join us, trailing along behind as Varric prattles on with his unending amusing tales about the Champion that I had been reading about from his book, and one of his companions who was a suberb archer and is apparently the prince of some city-state from the country he’s from.

I leaned against the stone wall plucking at my sleeves pulling them down over my wrists, the cold air was making the tender scars ache. I noticed Varric noticing my behaviour and I forced my fingers away from my sleeves as he continued to discuss the attributes of each available bow to find something suitable. While Harritt gathered up some arrows for practice, Varric returned to me holding a flat bit of leather with some buckles. “All archers wear an arm guard until they’re good enough not to hit themselves with the bowstring,” he commented matter-of-factly as he strapped the guard to my left arm. I could kiss him for his discretion. Once satisfied, he led us down the path from the smithy to where one of the trebuchets stand. “I have a practice spot down here to spend quality time with Bianca. We can see how you do without all the distractions and watching eyes of the training field. Have you ever used a bow before?”

“Once when I was a child. I quite liked it but never had the opportunity to do more with it.” He nodded at my explanation and guided me on how to properly grip the bow, place the arrow, and draw correctly. My first arrow falls short of the target. The second, after I adjust for draw I need to get to the target, sails past and low, to the left. The third one hits the target high and to the right, but I hit the target. I smile because I have finally found something that might let me be _useful_ in a fight instead of a liability. I adjust my aim again and the arrow hits the target in a respectable location and I start giggling with glee.

“Well shit, Giggles… You’re a natural with the bow. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrug, “no one offered me the chance to use a bow before. I didn’t know I had a choice.”


End file.
